AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a trio of ficlets I wrote in 2005 and 2006. Though not intended as a series, they seemed to go together well as a collection here.
STARGAZING
He lies in bed, in the dark, counting off the slow minutes. He would sleep, should sleep, but it's easier to wait.
He listens to the creaking of the ship as she settles for the night. The strain of metal here, the drip of water there. Serenity yawns and stretches, and to Mal's ears, it's musical.
In the quiet, he thinks about his crew. All different and, as he's been coming to realize, all vital. Each with a purpose, a will, a heart; each calling Serenity home.
They're all important to him, though he'd rather take a fist to the gut than admit it to them. There are some lines he's not ready to—there are some lines he won't cross.
He checks the clock sitting next to his bed, and it's time. He flips on the light, pulls on his pants and shirt, slips into his boots, and quietly exits, stealing down the passage to the bridge, hearing every clunk of his boots against the grated floor. His heart beats a little faster, though he wills it not to, and his legs carry him to the cockpit, bathed in the cool blue light of a faraway star.
She's there already, curled into the pilot's seat, legs pulled close to her chest, the slender outline of her visible through her thin, white gown, and her long, wavy hair spills over the back of the chair.
She's a girl and a woman and a mystery, and he asks himself again what he's doing there in the middle of the night.
"The brain learns best when it's quiet," River says as he takes the co-pilot seat, and he realizes she's read his mind.
"You know, it's a mite creepy when you do that," he points out. A quick glance from her sends him backpedaling. "Not that, uh, this would be one of those times."
This will be their third astronomy lesson. The first wasn't planned; he'd found her in the cockpit one night, quietly humming a delicate melody as her eyes scanned the stars. He'd almost bludgeoned her with a pipe before he realized who it was. Once calmed, she asked him if he wanted to learn the constellations. Wishing to make retribution, he'd agreed, and an hour had rushed by. The second time, she'd found him in the pilot's seat when he couldn't sleep, and another hour had passed. And this time...this time was not an accident. She'd let him know, in her way, that she'd be there, and he'd let her know, in his, that he would come.
"I want to show you the stars tonight, Malcolm," River says.
He raises a confused eyebrow. "Ain't that what you been doin' already?" he asks, studying her face, trying to figure out what she means, as though she would ever give it away so easily.
She laughs and motions him to come closer. As he stands beside her, her eyes glimmer as she takes his hand and points his fingers to a twinkling group of stars in the distance, and he's very aware that her palm is touching the back of his hand as she says, "But tonight, I want you to see them."
"Am I that blind?" he asks.
"No," she replies. "You're like most. It can take time."
He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "So I'm slow, is what you're sayin'."
"Don't worry," she reassures him as a slow smile spreads across her face. "I'm patient. I can be very patient.
"In time, you'll see how they dance."